


Glad You're Still Here

by TerokNor



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Now it's time for a little topping bloodhound, Other, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 10:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17958551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerokNor/pseuds/TerokNor
Summary: Have you ever loved someone so much you could kill them?





	Glad You're Still Here

**Author's Note:**

> You know what, I'm what we call...lonely.

After another long, grueling day in the Ring, Elliott just wants to shower, dry off with a few episodes of Star Trek, eat a box of macaroni, and creep into his bed to blissfully pass out for the next ten hours.

When he gets home, he appears to be alone, since no one answers his call as he crosses the threshold, his boots dragging some mud into his foyer. 

He kicks them off easily, then strips right then and there out of his suit. His emitters fall to the wooden floor with a clunk, but his body is aching with exhaustion, covered in bruises everywhere from his shoulders to his knees. All of the sliding, the running, the ducking, the dodging, weaving between cars and buildings and jump points and bullets flying everywhere. 

The bullet wounds they deal with once the game is over.

But the bruises he just has to suck up.

He winces at the ugly black and blue mark on his stomach where he'd been hit with the back of someone's automatic rifle, then seizes up in pain as a flicker of pain races up his leg. 

He'd forgotten that when he'd been sliding down a hill towards the Watchtower, a grenade had come soaring over his head and landed two feet to his left. Because he'd been wearing a powerful shield, it hadn't killed him, but it had broken his shield and thrown him into a rock wall.

Luckily, it had only injured his leg.

If it had been his back or if he'd landed at a bad angle, he could've easily snapped his spine. 

He limps his way to his partner and his bedroom. 

One of the perks of participating in death-defying blood sports is the money rewarded for winning.

He's won two games; his partner has won four.

They're pretty set in terms of income, especially with the fame and power that came with being seasonal Apex winners.

So the shower is huge, with ample space for two people, maybe even three (if there were more than two spouts, anyway). 

He strips out of his underwear, wincing as he has to lift his bad leg to do so, hopping just a little as he pulls off his goggles and scarf and tosses them outside the bathroom on the floor. 

The hot water is a godsend after a day of sliding in mud, sweating up a storm, bleeding through his shirt and pants. 

He groans as the shower head dumps streaming sprays of near boiling liquid over his skin, his bruises twinging a little at the pressure and the temperature. 

He's so focused on just enjoying the sensation that he doesn't hear the front door open or footsteps coming down the hall. 

There'd been a lot of gossip about him and his partner lately. 

Of course, there'd always been a lot of speculation.

After all, they'd been seen together more than any other returning champions outside of the ring. 

Wraith, Anita Williams, Makoa Gibraltar, all were friendly outside of the island. They were spotted together sometimes. 

But the two of them had been the subject of scrutiny almost from the get go, as though journalists covering the Apex Games just knew they were more than friendly. 

Elliott is so caught up, thinking about rumors both true and false, that he almost jumps out of his skin when the shower door behind him opens. 

"B-Bloodhound?"

He turns slightly, able to see them just a little, out of the corner of his eye, but Bloodhound's bare hand stops him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to keep facing forward.

His partner shuts the door behind them.

"Elliott."

Elliott splutters under the hot water, heart racing a little out of shock. 

"I-hey, glad you're home-!"

He feels Bloodhound pressing against his back, as naked as he is, their hand falling from his shoulder to his side, stroking up and down, lightly trailing over bruised skin.

Elliott shivers, because although it's a little painful having someone touch his injuries, it's also a huge turn on to feel Bloodhound's soft but firm fingers stroking such a sensitive area under steaming hot water. 

"You're an idiot," Bloodhound says flatly.

Elliott almost laughs, but the sound dies in his throat as he feels Bloodhound's bare chest against his back. Their hand falls even lower to his hip, stroking it painstakingly slow, squeezing, fingernails scratching lightly at the sensitive curve where his stomach met his thigh. Their thumb brushes ever so slightly against his ass. 

The holographic trickster groans instead.

"Wha-what for this time?"

"You really think you can run into fire fights at Slum Lakes the way you did this morning? I could've taken your head off."

Bloodhound's other hand grabs at his throat, pushing his head upwards. The water trickles down his chest, cascading down his abdomen and through his pelvic region. 

Elliott gasps, partly in surprise, partly in excitement, loving the feeling of Bloodhound's hand on his throat, their mouth on his back, pressing sharp, nipping kisses into his spine. 

"Luckily, your aim with a shotgun sucks," he gasps.

Bloodhound reacts just the way he'd thought (hoped) they would. 

They spank him hard against the buttocks with their right hand. 

He bites his lip because he refuses to let his moan be heard, instead letting it settle in his mouth as a grunt. 

His leg burns and the bruises on his stomach and light scratches on his hips hurt. 

But Bloodhound's nose nuzzles at his back. 

Their tongue darts out, licking water off the back of his neck. 

Elliott almost feels his knees give out. 

Heat pools in his crotch, his cock at half mast already. 

Bloodhound purposefully ignores it, instead opting to grab him by the hips and push him forward lightly into the glass. 

Elliott reaches out his both hands, bracing himself against the shower wall. 

"Don't look behind you," Bloodhound warns.

They've never fucked face to face. 

And Elliott has never seen Bloodhound completely naked.

He's seen Bloodhound's face, gentle and narrow with high cheekbones that look like a sign of royalty, but are also criss crossed with wrinkled white flesh that looks as though it has been chemically burned. He's seen their white hair long enough to touch their shoulders, their eyes pale and cloudy, as though they were blind. He's seen their back, damaged and ripped up as though someone had attempted to claw all their skin off. He's seen their powerful, wiry, powerful arms and legs. Seen their perfect muscular ass. All in this house, when they were changing. Just a glimpse of all of these things, brief moments when his eyes could wander and they eagerly took in every strip of flesh that his lover provided. 

He's sucked their cock before. On his knees at the Artillery Underpass, the two of them crouched in the shadows, hiding from both of their teams for quickie before the match really started.  

But he's never had the privilege of seeing Bloodhound like this. Never seen Bloodhound stripped down to nothing at all. 

Every incident before this had been quick. 

Dirty. Usually not in a bed. Couch, against the wall, against a stack of crates, on the hard concrete, with just a strip of a blanket to prevent serious chafing. 

Pants stripped off, but shirts still on. Mask still on too, in some cases (but that's kind of a turn on too. For some people. For Elliott, who finds the mask just a little intimidating at first, and gets something of a fear boner when those empty black eyes turn to stare at him). A quick blow job here or there. A handjob, maybe, rough and utilitarian, for a quick release. 

And they've fucked, but never face to face. 

Always with Bloodhound behind, pushing into him, mouth pressing desperate kisses into his neck, hands on his hips, or his shoulders, or even on his hair, pulling his head back as helpless cries and groans spill from his lips. 

"One of these days, you're going to have to fuck me face-to-face. I'm just not this kind of girl all the time-" Elliott starts to say jokingly, but then stops and lets out a pained "Fuck!"

Bloodhound's fingers had squeezed at his ass, pulling at the muscled flesh of his buttocks to tease at his asshole. 

The water is so hot, and Bloodhound is so close, he can feel their cock against his lower back, nudging, rubbing, but not going where it needs to be. 

He can feel Bloodhound's legs bumping against the back of his. They push one knee between them, rubbing against his testicles, eliciting another gasp out of him, and nudging his legs further apart. 

"Why don't you just admit it?" Bloodhound murmurs into his ear.

He tries to imagine Bloodhound's naked body with what he's seen before.

Tries to put it all together.

Tries to imagine that beautiful face and their gorgeous abs and powerful body behind him.

He had felt Bloodhound's hair on his shoulders when they had kissed him before.

Had felt the wonderful brush of their lips and nose. Known the warmth of their chest against his back, their arms around him when they slept together. 

But times like this are special, because he doesn't just have to imagine it, he can almost see it.

"A-admit what?"

"That you like being bent over and fucked from behind?"

Bloodhound smiles into Elliott's shoulder, hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat faster at their words. 

"I-I-"

"Just close your eyes." They let go of him completely. 

Elliott's heart is in his throat. He can barely breathe, can barely move, he's trembling with need and anticipation. 

And then he lets out a pathetic, shuddering little squeal as he feels Bloodhound's hand on his hips again. 

And then their tongue on his hole. 

He practically melts, hotter now than he's ever been in his life. 

He wishes the shower was a little quieter so he could hear Bloodhound lapping at him. Licking, prying with their tongue at his insides. 

He keens as Bloodhound pulls away, almost whining, but then is immediately silenced by their pointer finger penetrating his asshole, hand palm up, their other fingers gripping Elliott's ass cheeks tightly. 

He feels Bloodhound's teeth graze lightly at his ear. 

"I can't stand watching you be an idiot in the ring," they hiss. Their fingers are gentle, but firm. Elliott can feel his injured leg really trembling now. "Because your ass belongs to me." 

Elliott pushes back into their hand. 

_Please, please, please._

One finger usually has him unable to speak. 

Two fingers leave him unable to breathe.

And three take away any coherent thought. 

"Please, please, please," Elliott begs. 

Bloodhound doesn't need to ask him what he needs.

And when he's finally ready, when Bloodhound's hand leaves his ass and touches their own cock, he lets out the big breath he'd been holding. 

And Bloodhound finally, blissfully, enters him, and he forgets all about asking Bloodhound to fuck him face to face.

Because the hunter is right. 

The hunter is always right, always, always, always, because he does like being fucked from behind, he does like pushing his face against his crossed arms, pressed against the glass, bracing himself against the force of Bloodhound's thrusts, hair in his face, water dripping over his eyes and nose. 

Does like the squeeze of the hunter's hands against his hips, or on his sides, or on his nipples, pulling and tweaking them roughly, just how he likes it. 

They are as vicious in this as they are in the ring, and that is exactly what had attracted him to them in the first place.

The raw power in their voice, their motions, their arms and legs as they sprinted across the battle field, as they tore through enemies as though they were made of tissue paper. 

He'd felt their boot on his chest, seen the darkness of their mask's eyes, felt the strength of their willpower, their drive to win and dominate others. 

And he'd grown hard under them, even though he'd been certain that he would die. 

And it's the same now. 

Bloodhound's hand is on his throat, squeezing it harder and harder as they rush closer to their climax. 

The feeling of danger, of being fucked by a voracious, bloodthirsty god of death who could rip him to shreds, is almost as addicting as the painful pleasure of being rammed into with all the considerable force and speed the masked hunter possesses. 

They push hard against his prostate, making him see stars, his entire mind goes blank, and then they cum inside of him. 

And he shudders at the feeling. 

They keep thrusting, a little less hard than before, just riding out the feeling, coming down easily.

And then he feels their hand on his cock. 

And Bloodhound doesn't even have to say it, he knows. 

He orgasms on unspoken command, Bloodhound's fingers wrapped almost punishingly around his erect penis.

His leg finally can't stand it anymore.

The force of his orgasm forces him to crouch on the shower floor, then ultimately sit, with a gasp, on the wet ground. 

He pants for a few minutes, vaguely aware of Bloodhound still standing behind him, hair clinging to his neck, water dripping off of him, cum dripping out of him into the drain. 

For a long time, neither of them speak. 

But then Bloodhound crouches down next to him.

And gently, carefully touch his shoulder.

They pull him around, urging him to look at them.

Elliott does. 

And his eyes water at the sight of Bloodhound, beautiful white eyes staring affectionately at him, cracked, broken face happy and so loving he feels his heart could burst, cracked and scarred lips bent into a crooked smile that he loves more than anything. 

"You're an idiot," they say gently. "My aim is impeccable."

* * *

 

Later, they are fully clothed and lounging on the couch together, Bloodhound's face uncovered, their white hair soft and fluffy, Mirage leaning against their chest, occasionally turning to lay kisses on them, kissing their chin, their mouth, their cheeks, their forehead, unable to resist just kissing every part of them that he can reach. 

"But seriously," Bloodhound says. "Do not do that shit you did at Slum Lakes ever again."

"I-I- listen, I didn't know you had a grenade."

"I could've killed you, you idiot."

"You could've killed me in the shower earlier. I was _this_ close to dying. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that would be? Can you imagine them telling my dear old mother? Sorry, Miss, but your son got fucked to death, he was  _that_ horny. Honestly-" 

Bloodhound kisses him to shut him up. 

And Elliott, not the type to generally shut up, does so gladly. 

When they finally stop to breathe, they're both rather breathless, red in the face. 

"Keep yourself safe," Bloodhound gasps. "Or I will kill you." 

**Author's Note:**

> ...  
> ...  
> ...  
> Slum Lakes is a nightmare, stop dropping me there. 
> 
> Also, I totally went to Artillery Pass an hour ago and thought people could totally get it on in here.
> 
> And then I was promptly shot in the back of the head by a wingman. 
> 
> God literally shot me on sight for my sins.


End file.
